


tug of war

by nencenedril (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (which definitely should be a tag on ao3), Confrontation in the Ministry, Gen, Legilimency, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Occlumency, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Wrestling?, dorea's prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nencenedril
Summary: Dorea's prompt: Harry did manage to learn Occlumency. When Harry screams at Bellatrix in the Ministry that he doesn't have the prophecy anymore, Voldemort needs to make sure for himself that Harry's telling the truth.Or: my poorly-disguised excuse to request Voldemort holding down a wildly struggling Harry in the public space of the Ministry, while trying to penetrate his… mind.





	tug of war

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miraculous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous/gifts).



“So you smashed my prophecy?” said Voldemort softly, his red eyes blazing from underneath the black hood that cast his pale gaunt face in shadow. His long clawed fingers tapped a rhythm against his yew wand, still pointed at Harry.

Harry panted, his head spinning from the pain as he sat collapsed against the statue of the goblin. 

“Master, I’m sorry, I tried, I tried - do not punish me-” Bellatrix screamed, flinging herself down at Voldemort’s bare feet as he paced nearer and nearer, stalking like a predator towards his prey.

“Be quiet, Bella,” said Voldemort dangerously. “I shall deal with you in a moment, did you think I came here to listen to your snivelling apologies?”

“Strange,” Voldemort whispered, his eyes locked onto Harry’s. “Bella, leave us,” said Voldemort dismissively, not turning his head away once from Harry as Bellatrix left through the telephone lift, glaring at Harry as she disappeared.

“Look at me,” Voldemort hissed, rushing forward to grab at Harry’s chin. Harry lashed out, eyes squeezed shut in pain, the burning behind his scar rising to a crescendo. His legs kicked out, catching Voldemort on the shin who collapsed rather ungracefully on top of him. Claws dug into Harry’s skin, as Voldemort rose once more onto his knees, looming over Harry’s writhing figure. His wand was pointed under Harry’s chin in one hand.

Voldemort’s hood had fallen, baring his monstrous face to open air. It was twisted with fury at the sight of his enemy.

“Open your eyes stupid boy,” spat Voldemort, holding Harry’s wrists together with one hand above his head. Harry's eyes flickered open, glaring at Voldemort, tears gathered in the corners from the overwhelming pain of being near this creature.

“Who taught you occlumency, child,” snarled Voldemort, thin lips twisting over bared teeth. Harry contorted in Voldemort’s hold, feet kicking out hitting Voldemort soundly on his stomach. Voldemort gave a strained grunt, his claws digging into the soft flesh of Harry’s wrists, knuckles turned white as the clenched around the shaft of his yew wand.

“Imperio!” said Voldemort viciously, jabbing the wand into Harry’s chin. Harry’s eyes glazed over, his body relaxing underneath Voldemort’s.

“That is so much better,” sneered Voldemort, releasing his hold on Harry’s wrists. He sat back on his hunches, legs still spread over the thin form of Harry.

“Barty told me you were good at breaking this curse, but I doubt even you could break _my_ hold over you,” said Voldemort, as he peered down at Harry’s relaxed face, gripping his cheeks to turn his head this way and that. Releasing him, Voldemort gave his first order.

_Keep your eyes open for me Harry_

The whisper snaked through his head. He felt like he had sunken into a relaxing warm bath. His body felt like he was floating, his mind filled with cotton wool.

Keep his eyes open… what was the harm in that… keep his eyes open.

_Occlumency is the defence of the mind Harry, it is imperative to all our lives that you learn it_

Dumbledore’s voice floated upwards, his words ringing in Harry’s ear. Lives… whose lives?

A flash of red hair, freckles and blue eyes crinkled in mischief, the clatter of a chessboard and the feel of a slap on the back. Making up homework and a smudge of dirt on the nose.

Sloppily tied ponytail, hair trying to escape from it and crooked teeth, lovely brown skin after a holiday in France, the smell of parchment and a stain of ink on the cheek.

Radish earrings and no shoes, the dark leathery beat of wings and a bright red apple, the sweetness filling Harry’s mouth. A gentle voice and a tinkling laugh.

Brown eyes, brother’s trousers. Strong voice and long silky red hair. The bat-bogey hex and the diary. A drop of water falling into a puddle in a chamber long-forgotten.

_His friends_

‘Fight it!’ Harry thought desperately, feeling trapped within his own body, pushing against the unwilling muscles of dead arms and legs. Swatting at the fog that surrounded his mind, he focused on the thoughts of those closest to him.

_Keep your eyes open, boy_

The voice spat in his head, as nails dug into the apex of neck and shoulder. More sensations returned. The pressure of a body on top of his, the feel of silky fabric on his hand, a finger most curiously tracing his scar.

He awoke in his own body suddenly, like breaking through the surface of the water and taking a deep gasping breath. He immediately started twisting and writhing in the hold.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed the absence of pain that usually pressed against the back of his scar. Only a slight warmth radiated there now. He screamed in the tight grip Voldemort’s hands on his, desperately flailing as tears pricked at the edges of burning eyes.

“Shush, it’s okay now,” said Voldemort in a tone Harry thought was supposed to be soothing. His upper body was hauled up, a heavyweight in Voldemort’s arms.

“Oh, Harry,” Voldemort said breathily, hands brushing down his back and through Harry’s messy hair, “if only I had realised earlier how precious you were.”

Harry weakly pushed against the bony sternum of his parent's murderer, hands scrabbling against silky fabric, running through his hands like a stream of water. But Voldemort held tight, ignoring the weak pawing of the young boy pulled close to his chest.

Voldemort’s clawed hands curled around his arms suddenly, pulling him to his feet. Harry soon knew why. The fight was heading towards them. Voldemort hissed in the direction of the combatants, displeased at being disrupted. Harry tried to escape the tight hold the Dark Lord had on him, but his grip was too tight. 

“Now that I have found you, my soul, you are not getting away,” snarled Voldemort, yanking Harry’s arm. Voldemort seemed to start murmuring under his breath, a language that Harry couldn’t understand. No matter how much he wiggled, Voldemort’s grip remained tight around his wrist - he cast a desperate glance towards the sounds of fighting. His eyes lit up at the sight of Dumbledore making his way towards him, faithfully hoping that he would be able to retrieve Harry from Voldemort’s grasp.

Harry tugged harder, desperately trying to prise Voldemort’s long spindly hand off his wrist. He kept casting panicked glances over to the aged professor, as his fingers scratched and scrambled against the skeletal hand of the Dark Lord.

“Tom! Release Harry now,” called Dumbledore calmly, his odd-looking wand held aloft.

Voldemort sneered, twisting Harry around so that he held him by the throat, his back pressed to Voldemort’s chest.

“I have seen the truth, Dumbledore, this boy will never leave my side again,” replied Voldemort, slowly walking backward and trailing a kicking and struggling Harry.

“Tom, please, the boy is not what you think, he is-” 

“Lies! How they pour through your wizened lips, how many times have you lied to young Harry here?” interjected Voldemort, violently cutting Dumbledore off.

Dumbledore continued walking forward as Voldemort dragged Harry back, holding him hostage with surprisingly strong arms.

“I’ve given you so many chances Tom,” said Dumbledore gravely, his blue eyes wet looking, “it need not come to this.”

“Chances?” Voldemort spat, “you gave me none from the start, always peering down at me, trying to cast me down.”

“There is still one more chance,” implored Dumbledore, his wand pointed directly at Voldemort.

“No,” said Voldemort quietly, his red eyes glinting as he stepped back one more time, Harry choking on the tight grip around his neck. Voldemort made a cutting motion with his left hand, his yew wand held loosely. A loud bang saw the thousands of windows in the Ministry break, shards of glass raining down onto them.

Dumbledore raised his wand, making a circular motion as the glass that flew near him turned to sand. He turned sharply to pin Voldemort with his wand only to find him missing. Wisps of black smoke hovered where he had stood with Harry.

Dumbledore’s face collapsed in horror. His carefully laid plans involving Harry and the shard of Voldemort’s soul that he had housed, shattered in a million pieces.


End file.
